


Converse High

by chronosaurus (kimnamjin)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Conversations, College cliches, Eventual Fluff, Everyone Is Gay, First Meetings, Gratuitous descriptions of shoes, I apologize for hyunjin in this, I’m pretty happy with it? Wack!, Love at First Sight, M/M, This is actually a solid fic?, and that mission is to ask chan out, college love story, featuring VERY minor background seungjin, he’s...a bit of an asshole and for that i am sorry, jisung is a man on a mission, ofc i write a good fic and it’s a rarepair..., pls tell me ppl read chansung, rated t for cussing, so minor that seungmin is only mentioned lmao, wow i posted my 1st seungchan seunglix and chansung all in a row
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23952085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimnamjin/pseuds/chronosaurus
Summary: “I’m fine! Are you—oh. Wow.”It’s so cliche. All of it. The walking-head-long-into-a-stranger-in-the-hall bit. Their textbooks flying to the floor, creating a flurry of crisp lined paper and faded diagrams in the air and blocking Jisung’s view of who heactuallyran into. Their hands brushing as they sift their belongings free of the mess, and clumsily hand the remainders back to their rightful owner. Jisung hacking out his words until they died in his throat, leaving nothing but numbed lips and red cheeks in their wake.And now? Now this.The stranger Jisung crashed into is fucking gorgeous.It’s like some scene from an early 2000s Disney Channel original movie. Jisung won’t be surprised if the herds of students milling around them abruptly break into elaborate song and dance, at the cue of the duo kneeling opposite a pile of upside down books in the middle of the hallway.Or: After a chance (and awkward) meeting in a crowded hall, Jisung tries to find the boy with pink Converse. Which, as he soon realizes, is easier said than done.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han
Comments: 24
Kudos: 220





	Converse High

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the pink converse chan wore on skz’s most recent idol radio broadcast  
> ♡˖꒰ᵕ༚ᵕ⑅꒱

Jisung woke up tired. 

****

He went to bed tired, and despite the seven and a half hours he managed last night, he woke up with the heavy hands of fatigue clasping his and refusing to let go. He awoke with the physical kind of exhaustion roosting on his head and his shoulders, bone breaking and lung-squeezing. The kind that seeps lead-weight into your muscles and sinew and bones until the prospect of slipping out from under the covers sounds like a curse. The kind of exhaustion that makes the delicate skin under your eyes burn and the space where your brain should be feel like freshly spun cobwebs. _That_ brand of exhaustion. 

****

He even shoved his face into two handfuls of freezing tap water, all in the name of rousing him from the clutches of fatigue. Jisung only stopped when his lungs started to tighten, and the icy water began to dribble through his seamed fingers. 

****

Jisung woke up tired.

****

Which shouldn’t be a surprise, given he’s a sophomore in college. And he had the _brilliant_ idea of signing up for a Monday morning 8 a.m. lecture this semester. Minho warned Jisung against it, but he was naive. Jisung didn’t heed his warning, and now it’s too late. He’s awake and dragging his feet through the north lecture building on campus, and it’s not even 7:30 in the morning. 

****

College. 

****

You gotta love it. 

****

That overpriced iced americano he splurged on at the campus cafe must have been a fluke, because Jisung is still exhausted. Walking-dead exhausted. _Stupid_ exhausted.

****

Stupid exhausted to the point where his mindfulness floated up towards the fluorescent hallway lights as he made his way to his class, and his eyes didn’t sound the alarm that _someone’s coming! Move!_

****

Stupid exhausted to the point where he _saw_ the figure heading his way, but his zombie-like trudging through the hall continued on autopilot. 

****

“O-oh! I’m so sorry!” Jisung exclaimed at the same time an unfamiliar voice said, “pardon me!” 

****

Jisung walked _right_ into another student. Collided right into them! As if he’d been wearing a goddamn blindfold! Granted, the stranger didn’t take measures to avoid Jisung either, but still! The stranger was probably on their phone, or something. Jisung wasn’t even on his phone! No excuse! That’s what Jisung gets, for coming to his 8 a.m when he’s stupid exhausted. 

****

The clamorous _whoosh!_ of falling stationary was almost as deafening as the _thump_ of their bodies colliding. The textbooks in Jisung’s hand came tumbling to the floor, in tandem with the spiral notebooks held in the stranger’s arms. The ancient tile is soon piled with hardcovers and paperbacks alike, fluorescent daily planners and agendas and dictionaries all careening from their arms and onto the stonework. 

****

They sank to the floor in unison, hands fumbling to pick up the papers and books before the incoming stampede of students crumples them beyond repair. 

****

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Jisung squeaked, as he wrapped his fingers around a purple A5 notebook and handed it over to the stranger. It’s a lie. Technically, at least, because Jisung _saw_ them coming. His _eyes_ saw, but his brain was none the fucking wiser, because Jisung woke up tired. And when he comes to school tired, all bets are off. 

****

He should’ve just stayed home.

****

Jisung can’t even force his eyes off his own fingers, deftly sifting his own belongings from the strangers, all while trying to will the scarlet flush off his cheeks. It’s a tall order, and Jisung has yet to feel the 1000 degree heat of his blush lessen. God, he’s such a _dumbass._

****

But then the tirade of embarrassment shifted. 

****

“Don’t worry about it! Are you ok, though?” 

****

It’s the stranger. Their voice is actually quite sweet, and melodic. Not gruff and angry and chomping at the bit to tear Jisung a new asshole.

****

Jisung looked up, for the first time in ages. He tore his wide eyes off the floor and the stranger’s notebooks and Jisung’s own macroeconomics textbook, and looked _up._ At the stranger kneeling opposite him. He _saw,_ for what feels like the first time.

****

Jisung choked on the nothingness in his throat. 

****

“I’m fine! Are you— _oh._ Wow.” 

****

It’s so fucking cliche. All of it. The walking-head-long-into-a-stranger-in-the-hall bit. The textbooks flying to the floor, creating a flurry of crisp lined paper and faded diagrams in the air and blocking Jisung’s view of who he _actually_ ran into (literally. Except he wasn’t running. Blocking his view of who he _trudged_ into, in his sleep deprived haze). Their hands brushing as they filter their belongings free of the mess, and clumsily hand the remainders back to their rightful owner. Jisung hacking out his words until they died in his throat, leaving nothing but numbed lips and red cheeks in their wake. 

****

And now? Now this.

****

The stranger Jisung crashed into is fucking gorgeous. 

****

It’s like some scene from an early 2000s Disney Channel original movie. Jisung won’t be surprised if the herds of students milling around them abruptly break into elaborate song and dance. 

****

But they didn’t. Sure, some students sent Jisung and his new _acquaintance_ odd looks at the sight of them kneeling opposite a pile of upside down books in the middle of the hallway, but no flash mobs or synchronized numbers or cushy ballads about first love permeated the building. This isn’t scripted.

****

_That_ much is for sure. 

****

He’s still staring at Jisung, too. The stranger, that is. The beautiful, lovely, _hot_ stranger Jisung knocked chests with. His eyes are droopy like a puppy, but still dark and hazy and vaguely mysterious. Vaguely concerned, for Jisung’s wellbeing. His hair is brown and curly, and from his angle opposite Jisung he can slightly see the little ringlets at the nape of his neck frizzing up after succumbing to the humidity in the packed hallway. His lips are full and teeth-nibbled scarlet and held in a small frown of worry. His nose is rounded and wide and, if Jisung had his wits about him, he would have asked permission to boop the pad of his finger onto the adorable tip. 

****

There's an enamel pin fastened to the neckline of his black sweatshirt; fluorescent rainbow and in the shape of a heart. There's another brooch under that, in the form of an owl-eyed cartoon cocker spaniel. 

****

He’s undoubtedly older than Jisung, but maybe by a year or two. He’s probably a senior. Probably headed to his own regretful 8 a.m., like Jisung. 

****

God. 

****

He’s _perfect._ Jisung careened right into Mister Fucking Perfect, and he’s too gummed up in reverie to do something about it. To make a _move._ Their hands even brushed once or twice as they helped the other get their books together! Jisung belatedly realized how nice his hands are, and his already speeding heart slammed down on the accelerator. Fuck. Even his _hands_ are perfect. Long fingers and veiny wrists and masculine silver bracelets clasped around the flesh. And those fingers touched Jisung’s! By that right, he should at least be able to _talk_ to this impossibly beautiful man, right? 

****

Wrong.

****

Don’t underestimate Jisung when he’s stupid exhausted. 

****

“You sure you’re alright?” The stranger posed again, blinking at Jisung’s slack-jawed stupefaction. 

****

All he could manage was a gulp. Thankfully inaudible, but still all too visible under the weight of his awed (and equally awkward) silence. He bit down on his bottom lip, hoping the sting of teeth in his flesh would wake him up and get his thoughts in working order. 

****

Jisung was being naive again. 

****

“I’m, um,” _tell him your name!_

****

“I,” _ask for_ his _name, something!_

****

The stranger sent him a kind, almost understanding smile. Almost sympathetic. 

****

The boy’s dark gaze absentmindedly darted to the chunky, silver watch strapped to his wrist, as Jisung continued his mindless babbling. His eyes marginally widened, as his lips pulled into a wince.

****

“I’m sorry, I have to get to class. It was...nice to meet you?”

****

And with that, before Jisung’s poor brain could even _try_ to catch up, he rose from the floor. His crisp black jeans are now a bit cloudy with dust on the knees, but it’s nothing a good washing won’t fix. His arms are now cradling his own respective books, a bit tighter than before. 

****

He sent Jisung a final—slightly regretful—smile, and took off down the hall.

****

That was it. 

****

Their Disney Channel moment ended, just like that.

****

The world started back up, and it crashed over Jisung with the chaos and noise of students rushing to class as lecture hour creeps closer. 

****

He didn’t get his name! He didn’t even reveal his _own_ name!

****

It can’t end like this! How will Jisung ask him out for overpriced coffee now?! 

****

“Wait!” Jisung called, frantically, as he spun off the floor and around. He squinted through the crowd, trying to keep that broad-shouldered frame in his sight. 

****

He’s halfway down the hall, getting increasingly swallowed up by the students puttering about. 

****

Jisung is at a loss. He can’t run after him, with his own class starting in a few minutes! His only hope is to try and find him after their corresponding lectures end, all in the name of properly introducing himself and— _maybe,_ if his brain doesn’t betray him again _—_ asking him out to coffee. Casual. Nothing serious. Just as a way of fully apologizing for sending his very nice notebooks to the very dusty building floor. 

****

But now he’s leaving Jisung very much in the metaphoric (and in this case, literal) dust. How can he find him again?! 

****

It’s not like he can just ask someone, _“hey, have you seen a beautiful man around here? No? Thanks anyways.”_

****

He has virtually no identifying features, save for the man’s utter facial perfection! He was simply wearing black on black! How can he _describe_ that to someone?!

****

But wait!

****

As the stranger slipped down another corridor, down towards the science rooms, Jisung saw it! Saw _them._

****

His shoes. 

****

He’s wearing bright _pink_ Converse.

****

Pink! Saturated, _vibrant,_ hot pink!

****

Now _that_ is relatively unique. That, someone might have seen. 

****

How many boys are wearing pink Converse at their university? Not very many, Jisung assumes. And hell, if there are a few, at least it’ll narrow his options down quick enough. 

****

As the clock on the wall ticked to one minute to eight, Jisung scampered off to his own lecture room. The halls quickly cleared until only a few stragglers are left, liminally bopping between window to window as they contemplate cutting class or not. And then there’s Jisung. 

****

His heart thumping away in time with the beats of his own scuffed, checkered Vans against the floor. 

****

Newfound hope has taken over the speeding in his chest, and it’s fuzzy and fiery and electric. 

****

The pink Converse.

****

He needs to find the boy in the pink Converse.

**_  
  
  
  
_**

👟

**_  
  
  
  
_**

The first thing Jisung did once his lecture ended is _look._

****

Look in the hallways, look _down_ at the floor.

****

Look for those pink Converse. 

****

He walked briskly through the halls, keeping his eyes angled _just so_ he’s able to see the full range of shoes, as well as what’s directly in front of him. He’s had enough of literally bumping into people today, thank you very much. 

****

He hooked a left, and skipped down the corridor towards the science rooms. The same direction the perfect boy went, to his 8 a.m. lecture. 

****

So far, so nothing. 

****

Sure, classes just let out, and it’s possible he hasn’t left his room yet. Sure, he could be waiting in line to talk to his professor, and Jisung _knows_ those things can be 100-people deep. Sure, Jisung might just need more _patience._

****

But patience has never been his strong suit. 

****

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

****

He sees no-brand sneakers, with beat up toes and chewed up laces. Dirtied and almost ashen from their overuse. Black Converse with sharpie doodles on the white rubber, nostalgic callbacks to simpler highschool days. Timberlands with tongues half-poking out from grey sweatpants. Militaristic Doc Martens tucked into cuffed jean legs, trotting through the halls as if preparing for war. Muddy brown Birkenstocks, unassuming when contrasted with their owner’s mismatched socks and ankle bracelets of woven string. 

****

But nothing pink. Nothing that made Jisung’s heart race with recognition. 

****

He’s not deterred, though. Not yet, at least.

****

Jisung doesn’t have another class until 3 p.m., anyways. It’s not like he has anything better to do. 

****

The north lecture building is designed like a large rectangle, with each hallway interconnecting to each other. Meaning, Jisung could traverse one large, rectangular route if he so desired. 

****

And that’s exactly what he decided on doing. 

****

He took the same path, over and over. Hook left at the science corridor. Past the grove of plastic ficus by the vending machines. Again and again and again.

****

Jisung kept his eyes low. Saw more shoes than he’d ever wanted to in his life. More than a mall sneaker salesman could vouch for. 

****

None were pink. 

****

He’s beginning to get frustrated, as the next round of lecture classes draw near. It’s already 10:45 a.m., meaning Jisung’s been at this for almost a full _half an hour._ And nothing! Goose eggs!

****

How could he have missed him?! He’s been looking everywhere!

****

“Excuse me,” Jisung tapped the shoulder of a girl in line to fill up her reusable water bottle at the fountain. “Have you seen a boy in pink Converse?”

****

She pursed her cherry red lips in serious contemplation. She tapped a finger to her chin, making the little rhinestone on her lilac gel-nail sparkle in the lowlight. “I don’t think so? Sorry about that.” 

****

Jisung sighed, thanked her for her help, and pressed on. 

****

_“I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen anyone in pink Converse recently?”_

****

_“I’m sorry, I haven’t.”_

****

_“Excuse me, have you seen a guy in pink Converse? Bright pink?”_

****

_“Nope, sorry dude.”_

****

_“Hey there, have you seen a boy in pink Converse around here?”_

****

_“Bro, I’m trying to study here. I have a midterm in five.”_

****

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

****

Nothing! How can _no one_ have seen him, in the interim between their first meeting and now? Did he even exist? Did Jisung hallucinate the whole thing?! 

****

Jisung rubbed his elbow; it’s still slightly sore from when he collided against Converse boy’s sturdy-as-stone body earlier. That’s how he knows it was real. That _he_ was real.

****

Jisung was beginning to give up hope. Write him off as the fabled _one that got away,_ and drown his sorrows in another overpriced americano at the canteen. Maybe even a slice of bakery-club cheesecake, to really combat the ache in his heart with processed sugar. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. His exhaustion has only been exacerbated with the constant trek through the hallways, and his lungs and calves are starting to burn. Jisung just wants to sit down, and mope. Wallow in self pity because he was too clueless to even ask for his _name._

****

But then, a familiar sight made itself known. Not a familiar sight, but a familiar _face._

****

A little ways down the hall, leather satchel slung across his back and hanging low over his hip. Wearing a baby blue blouse and starched slate grey slacks. Possibly _too_ put together for 11 a.m. in a run-down university building. Raven hair shining and parted down the middle, framing his sculpted brows. He turned, long and lean legs walking him even further away from Jisung. Not on his watch! 

****

Jisung picked up the pace again, ignoring the sear in his chest and the sweat on his Cupid’s bow, as he kept that modelesque figure in view. 

****

“Hyunjin!” Jisung is so out of breath, the name was a ghostly wheeze on his tongue. “Hyunjin, wait up!” 

****

Hope reignited in his chest, as he picked up speed after his friend’s unmistakable, ethereal figure. Hyunjin knows everyone! He’ll _definitely_ put a name to the beautiful face of Converse boy! 

****

“Hyunjin!” Jisung tried one more time, as he tightened his grip on his backpack straps and _ran._ “Hyunjin! Stop!” 

****

Much to the relief of Jisung's lungs, Hyunjin did in fact stop. He elegantly skidded to a halt, his polished loafers digging into the cracked laminate of the hall. Jisung knows, because he's been staring at nothing but _shoes_ for the past 30 minutes.

****

Hyunjin turned gracefully, meeting Jisung's gaze. “Where’s the fire, Han?” Hyunjin dralwed, palpably unimpressed, as Jisung tripped up to him. That’s how he says hello. 

****

Jisung couldn't ask his question fast enough, even as he doubled over to catch his breath.

****

“Have you seen a boy in pink sneakers?” 

****

Hyunjin cocked his head to the side, before pursing his thick, perfect lips. “Pink sneakers? That sounds gay as fuck.” 

****

Jisung fought down the urge to slap Hyunjin right across his beautiful face. Use his hands to dirty up the sheer perfection that is his features. And for the record, Hyunjin is _“gay as fuck”_ in his own right. Jisung even third-wheeled on a date with him and Seungmin last week, at the arcade. They double teamed him in ski ball, and Jisung is _still_ bitter about it. But that's not important right now. 

****

Jisung also would’ve gone on a rant about how, generally speaking, _shoe_ _color_ can’t be determinant of someone’s sexuality, but he’s much too out of breath to read his friend the educational riot act. And truthfully speaking, there’s no point when Hyunjin is concerned. You know what they say on campus; _Hyunjin is an asshole._ Literally. That’s what they say. But that also isn’t important right now. 

****

“That's the point! I'm trying to ask him out.” Snapped Jisung, already exasperated with Hyunjin’s antics. 

****

And _maybe_ that’s jumping the gun, just a tad. That _asking him out_ thing, that is. All Jisung _really_ wants to do is get his name. _Then_ ask him out, if everything goes well subsequently. Of course _now_ he has a steadfast plan, once Mr.Pink-Shoes-Dreamboat is nowhere to be seen. Typical. But when Hyunjin is involved, the more dramatic, the better. Saying Jisung is merely trying to get his _name_? His friend would never chomp on such small-fry bait. 

****

Case and point? 

****

Hyunjin barked out a laugh, and crossed his arms over his chest. He leered at Jisung through his coiffed bangs, none-too predatory when coupled with his beautifully crooked smirk. “Aw, does Jisung have a crush? How... _quaint_.” 

****

Jisung growled, but his irritation was short-lived. This _is_ Hyunjin he’s talking to here. Biting and backhanded and snide, Hyunjin is whip smart wit and thinly-veiled insults served up on a jewel encrusted platter. He uses his beauty to his advantage. To lure you right into his perfect clutches, and then strike like the cobra he is. But he’s not _mean,_ per say. He’s just….well, he’s _kinda_ mean. Yeah. He’s mean. But he’s one of Jisung’s best friends, and he’s come to accept Hyunjin, warts and all. And when you’re Hwang Hyunjin, even your _warts_ are impeccable. Even his venom is a world-renowned delicacy. Ambrosia that corrodes you on the way down. 

****

Yet despite the things he says, Jisung can’t help but be Hyunjin's friend. And be forced out on third-wheel dates with him and his boyfriend. 

****

“I’m _serious,_ ‘Jin. Please tell me you know this guy who wears pink Converse? Black jeans and a black sweatshirt with pins? A big nose but it’s really cute and boopable? Thick lips and—”

****

“Ok, ok, I get it! He’s cute!” Hyunjin huffed, unlatching his arms from his chest and throwing them up in defeat. Jisung subtly puffed his chest out in triumph. He’s won. 

****

Because now before his eyes, Hyunjin began to _think._ His eyes flitted up and away from Jisung, as he visibly racked his brain over Jisung’s crude description of his mystery man. 

****

“Now that you mention it, he _does_ kinda sound familiar.” Hyunjin mused, as he turned his attention back to Jisung. “I think he might be in the music production club with Changbin? Maybe. I don’t fucking know, so don’t come crying to me if I was wrong.” 

****

_And_ there’s typical Hyunjin, rearing at the proverbial start line to rip into someone. 

****

But Jisung is too overjoyed to care. Music production club with Changbin! Jisung knows where that is! In fact, he _went_ to a meeting or two when it was first created last semester! He would’ve pursued it, but then, well, _life_ and schoolwork got in the way. But he _did_ want to restart going to the meetings, now that he thinks about it. One of his best friends is the club president, after all. It’s the least he could do, as a good friend. 

****

And what’s more? The club meets _today._ At 5:30, in the arts and music complex by the fountain in the quad. 

****

Jisung’s frown grew and grew until it mutated into a wide, toothy grin. He feels it again; that igneous hope flowing through his veins. The burgeoning possibility that _nothing_ can become _something._ That he’ll find him again. That he’ll right the wrongs inflicted by the deadly combination of embarrassment and reverence. That he’ll at least get his goddamn _name._

****

He doesn't know why he pressed his luck by tacking on an overeager, “do you know if he likes guys?” _Please,_ Jisung thought, _don't let that rainbow pin be a fluke._

****

Hyunjin frowned as he scoffed. “How the fuck would I know? I don't even know the dude’s name! I've only been with two people in my life, Han,” Hyunjin held up one perfect finger, “Kim Seungmin,” then he raised another, “and Lee Felix. Everyone else is out of my jurisdiction.” 

****

Jisung slapped an open palm to his chest, to clear his windpipe. He spluttered, “F-felix?! The president of the _pottery_ club…?” 

****

This is _all_ news to Jisung, if that isn’t already apparent enough. 

****

Hyunjin tipped his head back, and gazed down at Jisung through a fan of thick, black lashes. It's beyond Jisung why he sounded _triumphant_ as he mused, “Hell yeah, Han. It was last year, before me and Seungmin got together. And let me tell you, those tiny ass potter’s hands are absolutely _magical.”_

****

Jisung let the words marinate, before he shook them loose from his brain and got back on track. The music production club. 5:30 p.m., a few short hours away. Converse boy. His _name._ Right.

****

He's hopeful again, just like that. Just from a single thought back to him, and the possibility of what can be. Jisung's smile returned to his lips, as if it had never left. As if Hyunjin, and his casual remarks about his past sexscapades, ceased to be. 

****

He got _all_ the information he needed, after all. And _then_ some. He filed that little tidbit about Lee Felix, president of the pottery club, deeply into the back of his brain, and threw away the key.

****

Jisung clapped Hyunjin on the shoulder, making the taller boy yelp in his hand’s wake. 

****

“Thanks for the help, Hyunnie. You’re the best!” 

****

Hyunjin grumbled, and rubbed at his shoulder. 

****

He still left Jisung with a genuine smile, and quipped, “of course I’m the best! I’m Hwang Hyunjin, after all!” 

****

Jisung didn’t bother rolling his eyes or scoffing at his friend’s patented theatrics. 

****

He’s far too happy about the upcoming music production club meeting to care. 

**_  
  
  
  
  
_**

👟

**  
  
  
**

If the north lecture complex is cavernous and winding and infinite, the arts and music building is the complete opposite. It is wonderfully finite in its meager offering of classrooms and club hangouts. It’s small, but the earnestness of its inhabitants makes up for its structural shortcomings. 

****

Jisung pushed open the double doors at 5:05 p.m. 

****

He wants to get there early. 

****

He doesn't want to risk missing him, should he come and leave the meeting before the designated end time.

****

Of course, he could not come _at all._ But Jisung is trying not to think negatively. 

****

The music production club room is small, like everything else in the arts and music building. It's just four modest walls, tacked with posters from past student-run concerts and meet-and-greet forms from the last couple of club fairs. Three sleeping laptops sit on a rusty metal desk by the window, hooked up with piles of cables and cords that run into USBs and amps. Stereos and turntables sit unattended by the back wall, next to wireless keyboards and a pile of thumb drives. 

****

The club is kept afloat not only from the sheer tenacity of its (distinctly few) members, but also because _nobody_ can whip up a catchy jingle for a new program block on their college’s radio station like president Seo Changbin. 

****

Someone is already there, when Jisung slips through the door. 

****

“Jisung?” 

****

It’s Changbin, the club president. Makes sense that he would be here so early. The club _is_ his self professed baby, after all. 

****

“Sup, Bin.” Jisung greeted, strolling into the cozy room and taking a seat. 

****

Changbin sent him a cheek-bunching smile in return, as he clicked his phone off and shoved it back into his pocket. “What brings you back to the club? Haven’t seen you at a meeting since last semester!” 

****

Jisung’s cheeks reddened, perhaps unconsciously. He rubbed at the back of his neck, as he coughed out a weak little sound that _might_ be considered a laugh, under different circumstances. 

****

“I...I just think I should try and get back into it. The club, I mean.” 

****

Changbin preened, and wiggled in his seat as he grinned. 

****

Jisung let loose a sigh of relief, and slumped in his seat. A little white lie never hurt anyone, right? And it’s not _completely_ a lie! Jisung _did_ want to get back into the music production groove, honestly! It just took a nameless pair of pink Converse to get him back here. 

****

They caught up in idle companionship as the minutes ticked by. 

****

5:15 p.m.; Changbin went on a quasi-rant about the difficulty of the mythology and folklore course he’s taking as an elective. Jisung winced and laughed and nodded at all the right cues. 

****

5:21 p.m.; Jisung giggled in between sentences as he recounted how he tripped down the stairs three days ago in the physical education building, and almost went flying right out an open window. 

****

Wow. Has Jisung always been such a klutz? Why did it take him crashing chest-first into the man of his dreams (and going on a quest that’s verging on mythical to find him again) for him to realize? 

****

5:27 p.m.; Changbin kept chatting with Jisung about their upcoming midterms, as he opened his laptop and inputted the password. 

****

The meeting is about to start, and Jisung’s nerves are alight with pinpricks of fire. No one else has entered the club room since Jisung. _No one._ It’s just been them, the entire time. Jisung knew the club wasn’t the most _popular_ on campus, but even _he’s_ taken aback by the low-profile the organization keeps. 

****

Jisung keeps fidgeting in his seat. Keeps shaking his knees and wiggling his toes under the black and white canvas of his Vans. Keeps darting his gaze over to the side of the room when Changbin isn’t looking, all in the hopes of seeing a familiar pair of pink Converse push through the door. 

****

He’s not here, and at this rate he very well _never_ will be. He probably won’t even come to the club today! That’ll be _just_ Jisung’s luck! 

****

5:30 p.m. struck. The club has officially started.

****

And it’s still just Jisung and Changbin to speak of in the club room. 

****

Jisung let out a heavy, shuddering sigh. Damnit. 

****

Life and his own rattled brain have cockblocked him again. _Date_ blocked him, perhaps more accurately. It’s almost laughable, if Jisung wasn’t too mentally crumpled up in disappointment. The one that got away, in every sense of the word. Two ships passing in the night. 

****

It wasn’t meant to be, he supposes.

****

Or….maybe it was.

****

Maybe life isn’t as against Jisung as he previously thought. 

****

Because right as Jisung was internally writing off the beautiful boy in pink Converse, the door is nudged open. 

****

Two pairs of eyes flew to the threshold; Changbin’s bright and sparkly as they landed on the new figure, wide from friendly recognition alone. Jisung’s, however, widened in his skull for a completely different reason. 

****

Pink Converse toed the door open. Pink Converse walked into the club room. One step, two steps, three. 

****

Black jeans and a black button up. The denim still relatively muddled with a thin layer of dust from his encounter with Jisung that morning. A wide nose and heavy-lidded eyes. Dark pinks lips, ruddy and indented with half moons from the bite of his teeth. 

****

It’s him. 

****

It’s _him._

****

He’s here! He came to the club! 

****

Converse boy appeared slightly surprised at the sight of Jisung sitting gangly and awkward in a seat by Changbin’s desk, but his expression quickly mellowed into something verging on unreadable. Perhaps relieved, if one were to try to unpack the tender set to his brows. Perhaps happy, if one were to take the quirk at the corner of his lips into account. 

****

But Jisung didn’t dive into unpacking the boy’s rapidly shifting—yet still overtly blank—expression. Jisung can barely look at him at _all._

****

Jisung can hardly believe his eyes, as he dazedly watched the boy pad over and slip into an empty seat. An empty seat _right_ next to Jisung. With Changbin sitting at the head of the club room, there was no shortage of chairs the boy could have picked for the meeting. And yet, he planted himself _right next to Jisung._

****

His heart is pounding like a manic drumbeat in his chest, so loud and physical that Jisung wouldn’t be surprised if the production software on Changbin’s MacBook recorded the thrum. He’s _here._ He’s here and he’s _next to Jisung_ and he can hardly _breathe._

****

He feels like he’s falling and floating and tumbling like this morning, but Jisung hasn’t moved an inch in his chair. He’s just _sitting there._ Stunned. Eyes wide and trained on his hands laying limp on his lap. He doesn’t know what else _to_ do. Leave it to Jisung; as soon as the _one person_ he was waiting for arrives, his goddamn brain shortcurtuits again! He didn’t even say hi! Didn’t even smile at him! Didn’t even _acknowledge_ him! Jisung is the worst worst _worst!_

****

“Hey, Chan. Glad you could make it!” Changbin chirped, as he sent the newcomer a two-finger salute. 

****

The boy— _Chan,_ but Jisung is much too addled to comprehend such a reveal—matched the club president’s smile and greeted him back, before his dark eyes slunk over to his left. To Jisung, sitting rigid and stock still against the plastic backrest. 

****

_Chan_ reached a long, pale finger out, and poked Jisung in the round of his shoulder. He startled, almost jumping straight out of his skin, before whipping around to meet the other’s eyes. For the first time, since his arrival. 

****

“Hey,” said Converse boy, and his voice is melodic and creamy. Like a milkshake down your throat after eating something horribly spicy. Jisung gulped, as if trying to swallow every drop of that voice.

****

“Didn’t expect to see you here! What’s your name? I didn’t get a chance to ask you this morning, ‘cause of my dumb lecture.” 

****

_Fuck._ Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

****

He remembers Jisung! Of course, their meeting was _pretty_ unforgettable and only happened a few hours prior, but still! He _remembers him._ He’s talking to Jisung! He _asked_ Jisung for his name, and the poor boy himself is still catching up with the fact that he’s _right there._

****

All the nerves came back. All the fear and apprehension rushed him like a tidal wave, gulping him down like a ravenous beast. Jisung is suddenly terrified because he doesn’t know what to _say._ There’s obviously one _right answer_ but it seems like an insurmountable math equation in Jisung’s head right now. 

****

“You guys know each other?” 

****

It’s Changbin, but Jisung couldn't give a shit because he barely fucking heard him. His gravely timbre sounded miles away. _Lightyears_ away. All he can concentrate on is _him._ Jisung forgot the club president is even _there_ to begin with. 

****

The boy in the pink Converse nodded, sending curly brown locks bouncing about. “Yeah! We... _ran into each other_ this morning, but didn’t get a chance for introductions.” 

****

Changbin hummed, and turned his attention back to his laptop screen. Clicking buttons. Dragging on his mousepad. Plugging a cord into his laptop’s jack. His investment in their supposed meeting has obviously waned, in the wake of Jisung’s prolonged silence. 

****

Converse boy turned his gaze back to Jisung, who has been doing everything in his power to _say something._ He was gathering conscious, physical energy to spur his brain back into working order, and he may have struck paydirt. The weight of the boy’s expectant stare has become too much. Too much and too little at the same time, and Jisung needs _more._ He needs to get this lead ball _moving._

****

“I...Jisung.” He settled on. Eventually. 

****

_That_ was his big break.

****

Until Jisung screwed his eyes shut, and choked out, “I _am_ Jisung.”

****

He’s had his fill of embarrassing himself in front of Converse boy, for one lifetime. 

****

And Converse boy, to his credit, took Jisung’s severe awkwardness in stride. He chuckled, and Jisung can swear up and down that it was the most beautiful sound he’s ever had the pleasure of hearing. In fact, he had the urge to surreptitiously turn on the closest laptop to his seat, and open some recording software. Make that chuckle his new ringtone. 

****

“I’m Chan. Pleasure to _actually_ meet you, Jisung.” Chan stuck out a hand, towards Jisung. For the second time that day, Chan’s hand is right in Jisung’s sight. Except, now instead of holding books and stationary, it’s free and open. Waiting for Jisung’s own. 

****

_Chan._

****

_Now_ Jisung committed that name to memory. 

****

Jisung clasped Chan’s hand, and _squeezed._ Perhaps too hard, given this technically being their first introduction, but Jisung couldn't find it in himself to care. Chan’s hand is warm and soft and dwarfs Jisung’s in size, and he’d be remiss to let go. 

****

Their eyes met, and the two bounced matching sparks between their gazes. Chan smiled at Jisung, bright and beautiful and dimpled. Jisung smiled back at Chan, beaming and gummy and heart-shaped. It was all worth it. The fruitless searching through the halls that dampened Jisung’s shirt with sweat. The headache behind his eyes from craning his neck and peeping at every pair of shoes to pass through his vision. The embarrassment of crashing into Chan in the first place. The new dents in his already dogeared textbook, which will make it _really_ hard to sell at the end of this semester. The fear that he’d never meet him again—never even learn his _name._ It was all worth it. 

****

Jisung didn’t let go of Chan’s hand, as he snuck a quick glance down. Chan didn’t pry his fingers away, as Jisung did so. In fact, he only tightened his grip. 

****

Chan’s pink Converse are absentmindedly tapping, offbeat and not in any particular time. Jisung hummed, as he looked up from those shoes and back to Chan.

****

“Trust me, Chan,” Jisung mused, unable to fight the giddy smile off his lips. Maybe he should come to school more often when he’s stupid tired. 

****

Maybe he should’ve been on the lookout for pink Converse a _long_ time ago. 

****

“The pleasure is _all_ mine.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Do u ever think about how chan and jisung both have heart shaped smiles but the Energies of their heart shaped smiles are fundamentally different…..does that make sense 
> 
> anyways i hope u enjoyed my first chansung! also!! If anyone here has read my recent seungchan vamp au...guess what...a special bonus chapter is coming soon!! Pls anticipate, and if u would like to check that out before said bonus chapter is posted, it’s called “I’m a (blood) sucker for you”!
> 
> if u liked this kudos/comments keep me goin nwn


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